Flash Commission: A Twin of His Own

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“And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“Well, no. I’ve never done anything like this before. Hypothetically, yeah. You’ll have to talk him through it though, push him in the right direction.”

Sheriff Clark Easton had his eyes closed, listening to the men talk. The last thing he could recall well was packing up in his office late at night, getting ready to go home, but he hadn’t made it to his car. Someone had snuck up behind him, shoved a rag over his nose and mouth, and now he was here. Though where ‘here’ was, he didn’t know. Just two men talking in the room with him–they were more likely to spill something while they thought he was still out. The first voice was rather gruff, the second a little younger and softer, but he couldn’t say more than that.

“So what, like…my past?”

“Yeah, the more you feed him, the more likely you’ll get the result you want from it. Just like the pig–the gun and ink does some of the work, but the more you talk him into accepting it, the stronger the result will be.”

There was a grunt from the gruffer voice, the sound of some boots coming closer to the sheriff, and then a hand slapped him across the face–harder than necessary if all he’d wanted was to wake him up. Clark gave a little shout, looked up, and saw he was staring at Timothy ‘Bruiser’ McGee. Bruiser was the leader of a particularly nasty biker gang that had been moving in on the county for the last few months. Running drugs, extortion, rape–nothing was below them, and the sheriff had been struggling to pin down their hideout and get them arrested. Now, it appeared that they may have overplayed their hand. “How exactly do you think this is going to end for you, Timothy?” the sheriff asked.

The older biker sneered at him. Bruiser was easily six and a half feet tall, and heavily muscled, with a sizable gut. The only thing the sheriff had ever seen him wear on the top half of his body was a filthy leather vest, showing off the riot of tattoos the biker had all over, even running up his neck and face. “I imagine, bud, we’re gonna walk out of here together and have a good laugh about it all,” he said, grinning and showing off his crooked teeth, a few replaced with gold caps.

The other fellow was smaller and younger, setting up what looked like a little workstation beside the chair where Clark was tied down. He looked over the equipment, and recognized the tattoo gun–what the hell were they going to do with that? “I’m ready to go,” he said. He took the gun, brought it to Clark’s arm, and while he tried to flinch away–as soon as the needle slid into him, something else happened. There was just a cascade of sensations–sights, sounds, smells. None of them were familiar to him, and yet as soon as he experienced them, he knew, somehow, they were his. Nostalgic, and yet alien. Before he could try and make any sense of them, there was another wave, another bunch of sensation, all of it baffling him, swarming his mind. He didn’t quite know how long it had lasted, but it finally ebbed away, leaving him panting and sweating in the chair. It felt like it had lasted a few moments, but the artist had managed to cover both of his arms with full sleeves, and from the one window in the room, he could tell that a significant amount of time had passed.

“Alright, that should be a good start–talk to him for a bit, I want to see if it’s taking like I thought it would,” the young man said.

“What should I talk about?” Bruiser said.

“Yourself. Usually the older stuff comes in first. Ask him about your parents.”

Brusier laughed, “Fuck, my old man, you mean. My mom dumped me on him when I was a just a fucking kid–I don’t blame her, I tried to set the house on fire when she wouldn’t let me keep watching TV one night.”

“Fuck, I…I remember that…” Clark muttered. It wasn’t his memory. He’d been a good kid, always listened to his parents, they’d been married his whole life. But he could recall, somehow, piling up a bunch of sticks under the curtains in a dingy living room, setting them off with a lighter he’d stolen from his mom’s purse, cackling while she panicked, getting a pot of water to put it out. “Why do I remember that?”

“Fuck, it’s working!” Bruiser said. “Bet you remember dad too then, don’t ya?”

“Mean fucker, beat the shit out of me,” Clark muttered. “I mean, that’s…not my dad. I…I ran away. He had some friends who were bikers, they…I ran off with them when I was a teenager, but…”

“Yeah, fuck, real sexy fuckers too, right?”

“No! I went to school, I…I went to fucking college! What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Bruiser grinned at the young man, who nodded back. “You’ll see, Mr. Sheriff. Is he ready for some more now?”

“I think so,” the young man said, brought the needle to his chest, and again, Clark was overwhelmed with the sensation. He realized, now, what he must be feeling, and he realized where he’d recognized the tattoos on his arms from. They were perfect copies of Bruiser’s own ink. The young man was copying the biker’s tattoos onto him, and in doing so, he was somehow transferring over his memories–no, more than memories, his whole personality, his history, his identity. He could feel it. Before, the onslaught had felt chaotic, but now, it felt like a force, a corruption spreading through his mind. Everywhere it went, his old self was being overtaken, erased, and replaced by this new self. 

The sensation retreated again, and when Clark’s vision could focus again on the room around him, he looked down at himself and let out a whimper. The uniform he’d been wearing had been cut off entirely, leaving him naked. He’d always figured that Bruiser had more of his body tattooed under those ratty jeans he wore, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d gone this far–his whole cock and balls were tattooed now, and halfway down his thighs. More than that though–his cock was…bigger. Much bigger. The sheriff had never been well endowed, but his newly tattooed cock was close to eight inches–soft. The rest of his body was shifting as well, growing more muscular–but shouldn’t it be? He’d been working out all the time since he dropped out of school and fell in with the gang, beating and fucking his way to the top…right? He shook his head–those weren’t his memories! He had to hold on…hold on to…to what? He struggled, but couldn’t find everything he’d lost, just bits and pieces.

“Fuck, that’s real fucking hot,” Bruiser said, stepping around the chair, while the young man prepped his gun again. 

“Bruiser, get me the fuck out of this god damn chair, ya piece a shit!” Clark said, and only after the words were out, did he realize that his voice had changed, his accent–he sounded so much like Bruiser…but he was, Bruiser, right? “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Hold on bud, you’re just confused is all,” Bruiser said, “Like that time we wrecked out on the interstate, had a concussion for days.”

“Fuck, I still get headaches from that,” Clark said, “But I…I thought…there’s someone else in my head, man, what’s going on?”

“We’re fixing you up, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m scared, I…I don’t know if I can trust you, he’s…scared.”

“Here, this’ll help. You know how we get when we don’t get a smoke in a while,” Bruiser said, and pushed the cigar he had lit into the sheriff’s mouth. He took a draw on it, and while Clark had never been a smoker, he instinctively sucked the thick smoke right down into his lungs, held it for a second, then pushed it out of his nose in a couple of thick jets. “Fuck, that’s better.”

“See, we know what we need, don’t we?” Bruiser said, and groped the sheriff’s new cock, and he moaned around the cigar, feeling it stiffen in Bruiser’s hand. “We’ll sort you right out–we just have to do the back of you–you’ll feel better soon.”

Bruiser and the young man undid the rope holding Clark to the chair, and while a small voice told him to run…that wasn’t his voice. He laid down on the table they’d set up, the young man got his gun ready, and started on his back, and Clark struggled for a moment, before the sensation overwhelmed him again, and he rode the sensations. This time was different. He felt himself siding with the corruption, the strength flooding into him, rooting out and destroying all of that weakness in him. The good, the lawful, the obedient. Fuck that! He knew what he wanted, he knew what he was. The memories were coming clearer now, more and more recent. The sensation fell away again, and he blinked, pushed himself up from the table, and gave a little flex.

“How’s it feel?” Bruiser asked, as his twin sat up on the table. He was now the spitting image of himself, right down to the long hair, the thick ratted beard. Stepping close, they even smelled the same. The only difference was, the Bruiser sitting on the table had the number two on his neck, where Bruiser had the number one. They needed to keep track of pecking order one way or another.

“Fuck–I…did we get the sheriff? I can’t really remember, my head’s all fucking fuzzy.” Number two asked.

“Fuck yeah we got him–you were him!”

“Wait, what? Seriously? Fucking hell, so it all fucking worked?”

Bruiser stepped up and gave his twin a smoky kiss, which number two happily returned. He helped his twin up from the table and over to the mirror so he could see them both together, and the sight of it got them both so fucking hard, they reached down and started stroking each other off.

“Hold on, got us a celebration planned first,” number one said.

“You don’t have to tell me, I remember,” number two replied.

Downstairs was the gang’s new pig, a college student travelling through the county that the gang had kidnapped a week before, who the sheriff had been trying to track down. He’d been a test for the young man’s tattooing abilities, and the magic tattoo gun they’d gotten their hands on. The young man had been covered with raunchy images and words, his whole identity replaced with a cum and cock hungry filth pig, who at the sight of not only one, but two of his bosses, crawled over, grunting and squealing, before turning around and presenting it’s hole for them both. One took the mouth, Two took the ass, and they fucked the pig from both ends, sharing smokey kisses over his back–thinking about all the trouble they’ll be causing now that there’s two of them, and that troublesome sheriff was out of the picture for good.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 1)

Well, he’d made it. Life as a single dad wasn’t what Brian had signed up for, and raising his son all these years while holding down his job had been a struggle, but the moment that he’d been aiming for was past–his son, Tim, was off to college, a find young man himself now, and Brian found himself sitting in his now much emptier house wondering, “Now what?”

He’d been ecstatic at first. Privacy! Time to finish the projects in the garage he’d started, but that had always been delayed because of Tim’s school work, or extracurricular activities, or community service work. But that eagerness lasted about a month, when the depression set in. The projects were still sitting there. Brian was spending more and more time after work just sitting in front of the TV, a microwave dinner in front of him with a beer or six, drinking and wondering why his son didn’t call him more often. Is this all he had now? He thought back to when he was younger, and all the things he’d wanted to do, a life he’d pictured for himself before his family had taken over so much, but it was hard to remember any of it. It was a ghost, really, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him. 

He didn’t remember how he stumbled on the web site. An online ad, probably, for some service provided by a company called Arctos, and after clicking through a few links, he’d found himself poking around an online thrift shop. It was called Second Life Thrift, which seemed like rather intense branding for some second hand clothing. But one thing kept dragging his attention back, day after day–this biker jacket. It was well worn but still in decent condition from what he could see. He’d always wanted to own a motorcycle, but it had been cast off, just one dream like so many others that he’d never managed to fulfill, too busy making sure his son was provided for. But what was stopping him now, exactly? He dropped a mention of it to his son in a phone call, and Tim laughed at the thought of his dad wearing a bunch of leather and riding around on a bike. But rather than snap him out of it, it only made Brian consider it further. The price was a bit steep for second hand, but it wasn’t like you could find stuff like this at every thrift store. One night, after a couple of extra beers, he pulled the trigger on it. More likely than not he’d wear it around a bit and then it would gather dust in a closet somewhere, but at least, for the moment, he’d feel like he had control of his life again. Maybe it would pull him out of this funk, at least.

It wasn’t until he perused the confirmation email, and noticed that it had been divided into three shipments, that he realized he hadn’t just bought a leather jacket–he’d bought an entire lot of second hand goods! No wonder the price was so steep. There was no inventory of what was included, but he did figure out that the shop wasn’t so much a thrift store, as a front of estate sales. All of the goods belonged to one guy, apparently, who was, sadly, no longer alive. A bit morbid, really, but at least the name made more sense now. No wonder the shop didn’t advertise that more extensively.

A few days later, the first shipment arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but three sizable boxes were left for him while he was at work, and he dragged them into the house. They were numbered from one to three, so he decided he might as well start with the first one. He broke the tape, opened it up, and coughed a bit from the smell–leather, but also…well, he wasn’t quite sure what the musk was rolling off the contents of the box was. He pulled the first item out, and found himself looking at the jacket he’d thought he was buying all along, so at least he had that. It…stank a bit. He’d have to get it dry cleaned at some point, but he couldn’t quite resist the desire to try it on. He did, and was a bit annoyed to find it was too big. That was the problem with buying stuff over the internet, he supposed, you never quite knew what size you were getting. If everything else was this big, well, a lot of it would be going to the dump today. Underneath the jacket was a bunch of denim jeans, all of them unwashed as far as he could tell, and covered with dirt and stiff with unidentifiable stains. He pushed them away, not really wanting to touch them, and pulled the next box over–only to be further disgusted–sitting there, right on top of the second box, was a pair of clearly soiled briefs. He didn’t move them, but under those he could see other clothes, socks, more underwear, some t-shirts, and the stench was…well, his eyes weren’t quite watering, but it wasn’t good. The third box didn’t have clothes at least, but it’s contents were no less disappointing. On top, wrapped up in some bubble wrap, was a clock, surrounded by a neon sign that said, “It’s always drinking time!” and below that, was a humidor well stocked with a collection of cigars.

Brian wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. Still, he might be able to sell them and get the cost back for what he’d paid. For now, though, all of this was going out to the garage where it wouldn’t stink up the rest of the house, and left the jacket on top of the boxes with the rest. He’d try wearing it again after he got it cleaned up.

The rest of the evening passed normally, aside from the fact that Brian couldn’t quite shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone in the house. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt jumpy since his son had left for college, but this was different, somehow. Like there was something around him, something poking around his house, poking at him too. He probably just felt weird after going through the boxes–after all, he had a dead guy’s stuff sitting out in the garage, why wouldn’t he feel weird? He turned in a bit early, worried that he might be too unnerved to sleep, but he didn’t have trouble at all–but once he was out, that was when the dreams started.

They were intense, sexual, but when he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to remember a moment of them, but each time he’d wake up with a raging hard on, or he’d discover that he’d shot a load into his sheets like he was a teenager again. There was that presence as well, like someone lying in bed with him, but when he turned on the light, there was always nothing there. The dreams continued all week long, and by the time the weekend hit, Brian was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was get one good night’s sleep. Probably the only way he’d manage, he figured, was if he got rid of all of that shit in the garage, but while he intended to do so, in the end he spent a rather uncharacteristic weekend in front of the TV, binge drinking some cheap beer he bought at the supermarket. The presence was there, but where it had unnerved him before, he was growing more comfortable with it. It was nice, not being alone at least. 

Sunday, he got more drunk than he’d ever been in his life. The last thing he really remembered was going out to the garage, putting on that leather jacket, and opening up the boxes again, allegedly to throw out the filthy clothes inside. Instead, he woke up next morning in bed, naked aside from the leather jacket, with a pair of the filthy, stained underwear pressed to his face. He sniffed them, and while the aroma hadn’t changed, his opinion of it had–he gripped his aching cock and jacked off while he sucked on the crotch of the underwear, almost like he could imagine them filled with another man’s cock, and shot all over his sheets, which he hadn’t changed all week, and were beginning to stink a bit themselves after all of these wild dreams. 

Dreams like this one. It had to be a dream, right? He left the underwear there in his bed, and saw a half smoked cigar on his nightstand, resting in an ashtray he recognized as coming from the boxes. He coughed, throat scratchy and head pounding with a hangover. He stumbled out into the living room, and saw the neon sign hanging on the wall–and found a beer out of the fridge and downed it. He found his phone, dead because he hadn’t bothered to charge it, plugged it in and called work, letting them know he was sick and wouldn’t be coming in. Then he surveyed the wreckage, disgusted with his behavior.

But why? Hadn’t he enjoyed himself?

How could he know? He didn’t remember anything from the night before.

He needed to relax. No need to worry about work today, just take a load off. He was too stressed out, everything would be fine.

It seemed like a good idea. A reassuring idea. It only occurred to him later, while he was watching TV, that he wasn’t quite sure whether the thought had been his own, or come from…somewhere else. From whatever presence was around him, something he was growing more and more certain was an actual thing, and not his imagination. That should terrify him, but the more he relaxed, the more he settled down, the closer it got to him…and it was comfortable, somehow. He’d worked so hard, after all, for so long. Didn’t he deserve a chance to let go a little?

He called out of work for the rest of the week, said he was feeling like crap, and that he just needed some time for himself, which he hadn’t taken in ages. His boss was understanding–he’d been urging Brian to use some of his PTO for ages now. Without the pressure of that, Brian found he could relax even more, and soon, he’d pulled out some more gear from the boxes, and was wearing it around the house. The jeans were too loose and baggy around his ankles, but with the help of some leather suspenders he dug out, they at least stayed up. The shirts were all too big as well and stretched out around the gut, but if you tucked them in, it wasn’t really a problem. He kept the underwear on, shoving his hand down the front, and pulling it out to sniff it. He was hungry all the time, and kept the local restaurants in business, ordering lots of food, always intending there to be leftovers, but somehow he kept devouring all of it. At the bottom of the second box, which he hadn’t excavated at first, he found a collection of DVDs, all of which were gay pornos featuring, well, bears apparently. It wasn’t a term he’d heard before, but by the end of the next weekend he’d started watching those movies more than cable.

The first week back to work was torturous. His shirts and slacks didn’t fit right after all the binging he’d done. He craved beer and cigars all day long–but worst of all, he was alone. Whatever…thing had been following him around, it didn’t go with him to work. He was angry, and frustrated, and lonely, and when he got home he stripped down, put on the biker’s clothes (which were beginning to fit him better by the day), watched porn and jacked off while he smoked, drank, and ate himself sick, all surrounded by that comfortable presence, feeling more relaxed and happy than he could remember.

It was Thursday when he arrived home and found more boxes sitting outside his front door, along with something he certainly didn’t expect–a mattress. He opened up the garage door and dragged everything in before the neighbors could see everything, opened up the boxes, and took a couple of steps back when he saw everything that was inside. Dildos, plugs, sex toys all of sorts of descriptions. In another box was more leather gear, harnesses and vests, along with more denim even filthier than the stuff that had been in the first shipment. He was taken aback–he’d…let himself get carried away before this, because he felt so lonely, but this–this was too far. He wasn’t gay! Sure, the porn was…fun, but that wasn’t, he wasn’t–

“Fuck yeah, look at this stuff! They really got a hold of everything!”

Brian had turned away from the boxes to think, and when he spun back around, he froze. There, standing over the boxes was…well, he didn’t quite know what it was. A ghost, he supposed. It was an apparition or a hallucination, something standing there with all of the color drained out of it, completely naked–but judging by the size of the man, or the thing he was looking at, it was about the right size for the clothes he’d been receiving…and he…it felt like that presence he’d noticed ever since the stuff had arrived on his doorstep.

“What the fuck? What are you?”

The ghost turned, surprised to be addressed, apparently. “Fuck, ya can see me now?”

“What do you mean, now?”

“Fuck man, beats me. Last thing I remember was a real wild fuckin’ night, then I was here–you had the boxes of my stuff, and I’ve just been…hanging around, you know.”

“You–you’re the one who’s been making me…wear all of this shit, aren’t you? The dreams! I…I recognize you from them, I…I  can’t remember, but…no, fuck this shit, this shit is all going to the dump, right fucking now.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the ghost said, and drifted over to where Brian was standing, “Come on, bud. Maybe…a little, sure, but you’re the one who needed to loosen up, right? Live a little? I’m just…givin’ ya a little boost is all. Nothing serious.”

“No, I’m fucking done! I don’t know what the fuck this is, but I’m through with it,” Brian said, stepped around the ghost, picked up a box and tossed it in the back of his car. “You’re going to the dump, and I’m getting back to normal!”

The ghost kept trying to dissuade him, as Brian loaded up all the boxes that he could fit. The mattress was going to have to wait, but that would be the second trip. Before he could finish loading, however, the ghost lunged at him, and his fingers slid right into Brian’s head–and he stopped moving, his eyes and mouth going slack. “Fuck, being inside you feels so fucking good,” the ghost said, his cock growing erect and drooling a bit of ectoplasmic cum on the garage floor, “I’m not going anywhere, buddy–but why don’t you have a listen to a better idea, eh?”

Brian’s head nodded, his skull moving through the ghost’s fingers. The ghost tried to push in further, but couldn’t–but this was better. Before Brian could see him, he’d barely been able to get in him at all, and even then, only when he was sleeping. He’d been forced to just whisper to him, cajole and tempt him–it had worked, but fuck, this was going to be so much easier now. After he finished explaining to Brian what the new plan was, he drew his fingers out, and was pleased to see that the same blank expression remained across his face even without his fingers inside him. “Now, why don’t you go take care of what we agreed on, right Brian? Then we can have some more fun.”

Brian found himself returning from the dump, satisfied that he’d done what was necessary. Just…too much stuff cluttering up his house, really, so many unnecessary things. He couldn’t really…remember much of what had happened, and when he looked at the clock, he realized that it was the middle of the day of Friday–he’d forgotten about work entirely, he’d been so focused on…on getting rid of all the unnecessary stuff. The biker’s stuff, right? Oh well, he’d call and explain what had happened. Everything was going to be just fine now.

He pulled into the garage, and sure enough, the boxes were all gone. It was a relief to see that. Then he went inside the house, and his jaw dropped. “No…no no no…” he moaned, when he saw the neon drinking sign still on the wall, the porn DVDs by his TV, but everything else had been stripped from the walls. All of his books, all of his movies, his little collection of blown glass–all of it. And there, sitting on the sofa, was the ghost. 

“Welcome back, Brian–feeling better now that we got rid of all of that junk?” the biker said, grinning from ear to ear.

Brian looked down, and realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothes–he was dressed in the filthiest set of jeans he’d ever seen, reeking like a urinal, leather chaps on top of them, no shirt, the leather jacket and a greasy denim vest on the outside of that. He rushed to his bedroom, and just groaned when he saw what was in there–the filthy mattress that had been delivered had replaced his own, and there, hanging from the ceiling, was a leather sex sling taking up most of the room. He opened the closet, his dresser, but all of his old clothes were gone–and the biker’s filthy gear was piled around the room in heaps. “What…what the fuck did I do?” he muttered, and the ghost came up behind him, and slid his hands back into his skull, making Brian go slackjawed again. 

“Now there’s no reason to be scared, or sad, or angry. All of this was your idea. You wanted this. But don’t you think we should celebrate, Brian? I think you should throw a little party, doesn’t that sound fun?”

When Brian came back to himself, he was in the sling, wearing a harness, chaps, boots and nothing else. He struggled, but he had manacles on his arms keeping them hooked to the chain, and the ghost was there, stroking his own cock. He stepped up, and pushed inside him–it wasn’t quite like fucking, but it still felt real fucking good, and the ghost humped up against him. “I was never much of a fucker, you know,” he said, “But I just want to be inside you so bad, it’s all I can think about…” he moaned and fucked a bit harder. “You’re so tight though! I’ll…We need to loosen you up some more, and I know just the thing…”

Brian heard the front door of his house open and close–someone had just let themselves in! He struggled a bit, but the ghost passed a hand lightly through his skull, and he relaxed again. “You want this, Brian. Remember, all of this was your idea. Putting that ad up on the internet, all comers, anyone can use your dirty hole…”

A big, bearish fellow stepped into the bedroom, saw Brian hanging there, and leered at him, groping his cock before stepping up, and pushing inside Brian’s ass without much ceremony. He didn’t last long, and the thoughts of horror and disgust were slowly replaced by pure horny need. By the end of the day, with nearly ten loads drooling from his well used hole. Brian was thanking the ghost for helping him loosen up–and he spent the rest of the evening with a big plug up his ass, watching more porn, and listening to his new ghostly friend talk about his life.

The ghost’s name was Ben. He’d never had money, he’d never had much in the way of family, but he’d sure as hell had fun, riding all over the country, sucking, fucking and pissing all the way. Things had changed over the years. You had to ride deeper now to find the real freedom, now that so much shit is all the fucking same, and so damn sanitized and family friendly. But didn’t Brian want to be free? Isn’t that why he’d bought that jacket in the first place, because he knew that, somehow, it was connected to freedom?

Brian didn’t go back to work. He didn’t even bother calling to tell them he quit–what the hell did that place even matter? It was just a cage. A cage like the cars driving around on the road, the little boxes and the little boring lives that men just…accepted. That he’d accepted. But not anymore. He sold the car–couldn’t get much from it, but it was enough, and he didn’t need to go anywhere yet. All the clothes fit him perfectly now–he’d grown a few inches taller over the last few days, so the jeans hit the boots just right, and his fat gut distended the ratty bar shirts just like they had when Ben had been wearing them. It was comfortable. It was right. That’s what the ghost said, at least, and Brian was more than happy to believe him.

The last shipment would arrive any day now, and the ghost was so eager for it. Sure enough, the truck pulled up, and offloaded the ghost’s old, but reliable, motorcycle. A beat up Harley that had seen hundreds of thousands of miles, but now that it was Brian’s it would see a few hundred thousand more. There were a few boxes with the shipment as well, mostly odds and ends, but it was the bike that the ghost was obsessed with. “Come on,” he said to Brian, “Let’s take him for a ride.”

Brian climbed on, but he’d never so much as ridden a motorcycle before, much less drove one himself. But the ghost hopped up and settled on the seat behind him, and slid his arms down into Brian’s own, and he shuddered as the ghost took control of them, pushed his way into his body from the back, the biker’s big gut in the middle of his back, feet pushing into his boots–and then they were off. Whether he was in control or not–he didn’t know. It felt like it was the ghost just…guiding him along, showing him how to lean, what to twist and when, providing a steady hand. “This could be your life, you know,” the ghost whispered to him, “I’d want this for you. I had a real fucking good time when I was alive, and…I know I can’t be alive again, but you…if you let me in, this could all be yours. Really be yours.”

Brian shuddered as the bike accelerated, slipping into the other lane to breeze past a few cars, the shocked look on people’s faces as he did enough to make his cock explode in his filthy denim jeans. “Fuck–Fuck, I…I fucking do,” Brian moaned.

They pulled off the highway and found a little secluded gully, parked the bike, and Brian bent over it, pants down around his boots, while the ghost ran his hands over and through him. Brian…could tell he was a bit scared as well. Neither of them knew what this would do to them both, but they both…wanted it so badly. The biker fucked him for a while, but it wasn’t enough–they knew it wasn’t enough, so he switched to his fist, pushing it into Brian’s eager hole–maybe even more eager than the biker’s had been when he was alive, and it slid deeper and deeper, until it wouldn’t come free. Both of them panting and heaving for breath, the biker forced his way deeper in, Brian’s ass not distending so much as his mind opening up more and more. The ghost’s other arm then, both of them up to the shoulder, then his head, crawling his way into Brian’s guts, into his very being, and together, they came as the ghost disappeared inside him, beame a true part of him, and Brian collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, ass shuddering and twitching in orgasm as well, from the sheer excitement of it.

When he stood up again, he was Brian, mostly. At least, on the outside. On the inside, well, that was difficult to say. He shook his gut, which had grown out another few inches, and let off a belch, stroked the long beard that had grown out of his face, and gave his ass a scratch before pushing a couple of fingers in. Maybe on the way home, he’d cruise a few rest areas, see what he could find, yeah, fuck, that sounded hot. By the time he got home, ass pumped full of cum, pants damp with piss that he’d been soaked in a few times, including his own which he’d let go while riding, he entered his house, picked up his phone, and found a message from his son. Fuck, he was a handsome fellow, wasn’t he? Last Brian had talked to him, he’d been struggling at school a bit, trying to figure out who he was. At the time, Brian had been struggling himself, with that same question. Well, Brian didn’t have that problem now–he knew exactly who he wanted to be. He knew exactly who his boy ought to be too. Ben had always wanted a family–when he was alive. Winter break was coming soon–and maybe, if he played his cards right, he could show his son exactly what kind of man he ought to be.

Patreon supporters already have access to the second part! They can read it here. I’ll post it for everyone else next week.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #3 (Carter’s Rebellion)

This interlude was a commission, and involves a bit of a time jump. Don’t worry, we’ll return and pick up Coach Mason’s tale another time. I’d also recommend reading the first interlude, which has the beginnings of Carter’s journey. If you’d like a commission like this one, you can find out more details here!

Fall was slowly shifting to Winter around the two houses. The leaves had fallen and been raked up by the boys, classes were gearing up for finals, some were eyeing the oncoming Winter break with a nervous glance, since it was unlikely that the Frat Daddy would simply allow the boys to return home to their families without some humiliating expectations of behavior to follow. But other boys were struggling for other reasons–and one of those boys was Carter. These last few months had been a whirlwind, from losing his hair, to finding himself under Daddy’s paddle and whip, finding himself beaten down and built back up again by Sarge on a regular basis in the dungeon. Some weeks, he felt like he could take on the world. Other weeks, he ached from the bruises, welts and cuts on his body, from his muscles and bones working through another growth spurt, and wondered how he could want this, if he was broken for wanting it at all. Other weeks, all he could do was stare at the other boys, frustrated that he couldn’t take his budding sadism out on them, as Daddy did to him. He’d look at himself in the mirror, miss his hair, no longer knowing what he wanted, or who he wanted to be. Just a mass of sensation, rudderless, no consistent identity from one day to the next. 

Maybe that was why it happened. Or maybe, it was the dreams that had been plaguing him most every night, the visions of being stripped and hung in Daddy’s dungeon, flesh and soul peeling away from him with every strike of the lash until there was nothing left of him, just a dull buzz of…something in the back of his mind, something trying to pull him together. Or maybe it was Daddy wishing for him to understand, to see what Daddy saw in him, consciously or unconsciously. But whatever the reason it happened, one Friday morning, wondering if he’d be able to spend another weekend with Daddy again, wondering if he wanted to spend another weekend with him, he found himself mostly thinking about his hair. He’d be lying, if he said he didn’t miss it. He understood, somewhat, why Daddy did it…but at this point, hadn’t he proven to him that he was more than just his hair? Couldn’t Daddy at least let him grow it out again, instead of keeping his scalp shaved down every single day? It didn’t help that his beard wasn’t growing in as thick as he would have liked. His blonde coloring just didn’t stand out enough, making it look like thin, long, peach fuzz.

He looked away from the mirror, and felt something familiar brush against the back of his neck. When he turned back around, he was shocked to see his hair! It was growing in again, faster and thicker than it had before, still that perfect golden blonde that so many girls had gone wild for in high school and college, before Daddy had taken over. He ran his hands through it and gave it a tug, but it was real. How was this even possible? Looking at himself, he noticed that his beard was also filling in and growing. It finally passed through that awkward fuzzy stage and became a thick, blonde beard that reached down to his chest.

“D-Daddy?” he asked, but the room was empty–most of the other boys in the house were eating downstairs or in class. He looked back at the mirror, and then down at himself. If Daddy hadn’t done this, then…had it been him? As a little test, he thought about being bigger–thicker and taller really, and he felt his body surge outwards and respond to him, packing on muscle, his harness growing tight against his body. As he ran his hands over himself, another boy, named Ryan, came up the stairs and into the communal bedroom–and froze when he saw Carter in front of him. “C-Carter?” he asked, “Your…hair, man, how…”

Could he…change others? “Ryan–get over here and bend over, I’m fucking horny,” Carter said with a grin, and watched as Ryan did exactly as he ordered, bending over the side of his bed, and allowing Carter to pull his plug out with a pop. Ryan almost never got fucked in the house–he was too careful, but Carter had gotten him a few times. But now, he’d just…given up! Given up, because Carter had ordered him to. The rush he felt then–the sensation of power and domination over another. He loved fucking Ryan’s hole then, but nothing compared to watching that boy obey him without a single question. “Feels good, doesn’t it Ryan? You want me inside you more often, don’t you? You want me inside you as much as you can get me, got it?” he said, and Ryan started moaning and panting louder, pushing back as Carter fucked him, until he came deep in his ass–but when he pulled out, Ryan turned around, cock hard in his jockstrap, and begged him for more, his eyes betraying a terror and frustration that his mouth couldn’t articulate, but Carter was so lost in the pleasure of control that he didn’t even notice it. “Come on Ryan, let’s go see how the boys downstairs are doing. Maybe if they get me horny enough, I’ll fuck you again, would you like that?”

“Yes Sir, more than anything,” Ryan said, following along meekly as Carter went downstairs, eager to have some fun with the boys before Daddy came over in the evening.

Ethan had finished his dinner, dressed himself in his gear, and selected a cigar. With one last look in the mirror to ensure he was holding himself to the same standard he held his boys to, he went downstairs to his dungeon and crossed through the tunnel between his own home and the frat house next door, mulling over his decision again. He’d had most of the boys over at least once at this point, sometimes one on one, and sometimes together, enough to have introduced them all to the specialized plans that Daddy had for their budding manhood. Carter though–he was the exception. While he hadn’t come over every weekend, Daddy had devoted a potentially unfair amount of attention to the budding masochist over the last few months. While he wanted him again this weekend, for his own selfish ends as well as for Carter’s growth, he had decided against it. Carter had hit a wall over the last couple of weeks, one that Daddy was familiar with. He was wrestling with himself, with what he wanted to be, and it was best to let him rest for some time, to sort it out in his own time. If he pushed him too hard, it wouldn’t help anything.

He came out of the tunnel in the gym under the frat house, and that was the first indication that something was amiss–there was no one down there working out. Usually, on a Friday night, many of the boys would be down here working off their dinner, some of them working out while they smoked to take the edge off their horniness without having to fuck–or for the couple of boys in chastity at the moment, because they couldn’t. But there was no one. Guarded, he climbed the stairwell that led up to the living room, and found himself looking at the entire house of boys, all of them clustered around Carter, who was sprawled on a chaise, every single boy in the house worshipping him, with Ryan on top, fucking himself on Carter’s cock, moaning in ecstasy.

“Boys, Line up!” Daddy called, and that was enough to jolt them to their senses. Most of the boys did as commanded, some of them looking a bit…confused or scared, like they’d been caught in the act of something wrong. Carter did not line up with them, but instead stepped forward, his long hair and beard soaked with sweat from the hour long orgy he’d instigated with the rest of the house–well, commanded, really. Carter had been waiting for this, hoping his Daddy would be proud of him, but what he saw in Daddy’s eyes wasn’t appreciation, it was the sort of scowl he reserved for the boys who truly misbehaved. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? Where the fuck did that hair come from? You know that is a violation of the house dress code.”

“I…I grew it, Daddy,” Carter said. “I…I thought it was you.”

“Tell me what happened boy,” Daddy said, and Carter did–told him about how he’d grown his hair, about the power he had over the rest of the boys, the same sort of power that Daddy had himself. 

“Can’t you see Daddy? I’m a man now! Like you said I would be one day, I’m…like you. I can help you!”

Daddy sighed. “Carter, come here–stand with me and look at the boys in the line.”

Carter did as he was told, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

“They’re scared, Carter. They’re scared of you.”

Carter looked again, and he understood then. None of them would meet his eyes. Some turned away, out of fear or shame, or perhaps both. “Well, they should be afraid of me,” Carter said. “They should be afraid of both of us.”

The slap shocked him. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had done so, usually when Carter mouthed off in the dungeon, but never publicly, and never quite that hard. “No–that is not what we do. That is not what I do. We do not use fear, not here, not between us. Power, yes, but never fear. Get downstairs, Carter–we have to figure out what’s going on here, and how to stop this…power of yours.”

“What? No!” Carter said, “I…I thought you would be proud of me.”

“Carter,” Daddy said, resting his hands on his shoulders, “You are still so young, and so new. Gifted, yes, but you are wading into waters far too deep for you to handle yet. I’m not angry–I understand, but you need to listen to me. We have to fix this, alright? I cannot allow what you have done here tonight to stand. Now come with me, and we will sort this out.”

Ethan inflected that last sentence as an order,, with a sliver of will from the amulet around his neck, but he felt Carter shrug it off without much effort. “Let go of me,” Carter said in response, and the force of it caught Daddy off guard. He removed his hands, and Carter stepped back. “You’re weak. You were always weak. I’m stronger than you, I bet. Why don’t you get down on your knees and kiss my feet, Daddy? Maybe a few days servicing me will help you appreciate my power a little better.”

The young man was strong, but Ethan felt the command slide off him without him so much as flexing a knee. When he didn’t bend, he saw the kernel of fear that Carter had been hiding in his eyes grow a bit larger, and he took another step back. 

“I said kneel!” Carter said again, but again, Daddy was unbent, even as every boy in the line off to the side collapsed to their knees at the force of the command.

“This is not power, Carter, this is a tantrum. Get downstairs now, or I will drag you down there myself.”

Carter found that he had to flex all of the will he could muster just to shrug off Daddy’s command–he would lose if this kept up. He had to get out of here. He bolted for the front door, and was out and down the steps before Daddy could make it onto the porch. 

“God damn it boy, get your ass back in this house!” Daddy shouted at him. Carter felt the pull, but sprinted harder, dragging free of it. There, on the street, a motorcycle. Had it been there, or was this a wish of his own? He didn’t know how to ride it, but with a wish, he was dressed in leathers and a helmet, hopped on, and sped off down the street. He made it a few blocks before he had to pull over, rip the helmet off, and sob. He would show him, one day soon. He’d show Daddy just what kind of man he was. He’d be back, and when he did–Daddy would be the one kneeling before him, begging for forgiveness.

Ethan stood on the porch and watched Carter roar off down the road. He probably could have caught him, brought him back, but he decided not to–it was more important to tend to the boys and make sure they were ok, in any case. Back inside, the boys were rattled, but mostly resilient. Daddy canceled training that weekend, and spent the next couple of days with the boys, focusing more on making sure they felt cared for, smoking together, lying around with them, seeing to their course work, talking with them. Many asked about Carter, about what Daddy would do about him, but Daddy told them not to worry. Carter had needed space from him–but apparently, he’d needed more space than even Daddy had anticipated. One way or another, he would be back. All Daddy could hope, was that when he returned, he’d come back with a new understanding. Otherwise, there might not be a choice, other than to fight.

He sat with the amulet and meditated with it, trying to uncover how, or when, Carter had been given that strange power. In the end, nothing revealed itself which was troubling itself. If Ethan couldn’t understand how he had gifted Carter his power, then that meant he would have to be ready for it to happen again with the other boys. The weekend passed, and Carter didn’t return. Daddy spent the evenings out on the porch with a whiskey and a cigar, ready and waiting to see that motorcycle come back–but it didn’t come. After a week, Ethan began to wonder if he might be gone for good–or that perhaps something else had happened. In any case, there was nothing he could gain from worrying over it. In the end, he hung up the vigil, and things settled back down into a new normal.

Thanksgiving was coming closer, and Daddy and the boys were getting ready for the feast–none of them could return home to see their families, Daddy said, and while many were disappointed, they had found themselves growing closer to one another, and to Daddy–enough that to some of them, this felt more like their family than their old one ever had. It was Monday night andEthan had been out late shopping. Sure, he could just make the food appear if he wanted to, but he didn’t like to rely on it for the mundane. He believed it was better to retain a bit of humility, as a reminder. When he pulled up in front of the house, there was the bike. It had obviously been well travelled over the last few weeks, the wheels coated with dust and mud. Still, Carter wouldn’t have parked it here if he’d planned on jumping him. That either meant he’d come to his senses, or he’d grown powerful enough that he thought he could take Daddy without the element of surprise.

The door had been unlocked–not surprising, with Carter’s power. Daddy took a few minutes to put the food away, and just listened. He couldn’t hear much, but he could smell smoke wafting up from the dungeon below. Once the groceries were stashed away, Daddy took a cigar from his humidor, lit it, and went downstairs to meet his lost boy.

Carter was there, sitting in the bondage chair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey balanced on the arm rest. He looked about as rough as the bike did–hair greasy and unwashed, longer than it had been in the house, reaching almost to the small of his back. His beard had grown out as well, down to his belly–or rather, a gut. Carter looked up at him as he entered, and Daddy saw that Carter was not the same boy that he’d been when he’d left. He was older–not as old as Daddy, but easily in his thirties. His skin weathered from hours riding under the sun. He shuffled his feet, and downed most of his glass of whiskey. “Hi…Daddy,” he said, finally.

“Welcome back, boy. I was worried about you,” Daddy said, and pulled over a chair to face Carter.

“You…didn’t come after me. If you were worried, why didn’t you look?”

“You needed space,” Daddy said. “Me chasing you wouldn’t have made you stop running, and it wouldn’t have helped the rest of the boys either. They needed me here more than you needed me coming after you.”

Carter looked a bit pained, like the reason was so obvious now, and the fact that he hadn’t seen it only made him feel worse. “Are…they all ok?”

“Yes, for the most part. I don’t know if they’ll be happy to see you, but they’re ok.”

“I came…I mean…I tried, I really did,” Carter said, and the first of the tears fell then. Daddy held back–but it was painful to watch all the same. “All I wanted was to be like you. To be strong like you are. I thought…if I could do it to others, then I must be, but god, I fucked up, I fucked up…”

“You did.”

“Not just the house, out there. I thought it was complicated here, but out there–fuck.”

Daddy nodded. 

“You were right. I wasn’t ready. I’m just a kid, but the more I felt that way, the older I got, and I…I don’t know if I can go back, it won’t let me go back.”

“You can’t go back, Carter. There’s no erasing what you did. All you can do is go forward.”

“Please, I want to be a boy again. Help me try again, I’ll be better, I’ll listen this time.”

Daddy chuckled, and took a drag off his cigar, “But if you went back, you won’t know why you needed to listen, would you?”

Carter’s head sank. “So…I’m stuck? Like this? For good?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daddy said, and stood up. “I can try something, I think–but you have to trust me, like you did that first day–can you do that? You have to want this to be right, more than you want to feel ashamed, and guilty, and depressed. You have to believe that I can offer you something else.”

Daddy walked over, and started fastening Carter’s wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, then slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He went to the wall, took down a pair of scissors, and bundled up Carter’s hair into his fist. “What do you want me to do, boy?”

“Please Daddy–cut my hair. I…I haven’t earned the right to wear it yet.”

“I will boy–but listen to me. When I cut this hair from you, I will sever you from your power–this power. Concentrate on that. It will be sealed away inside you, until you are allowed to grow this again, properly. And when that power is sealed, you will be renewed, do you understand? You will be a boy again–you will be my boy again.”

“Yes Sir, I understand Sir.”

Ethan cut through the hair–but it was harder than the first time. The grease didn’t help, but the power was resisting as well. He had to draw on his own, push it down into the blades of the shears, but they finally cut through, and Carter let out a sob of relief. Daddy kept cutting, working around the strap of the blindfold, and when he’d clipped as close as he could, he shaved Carter bald once again–but he left the beard. A token, perhaps, but in all honesty, it was vanity. It looked good–and the boy would need something to remind him of this.

He removed the restraints, led Carter in front of the mirror, and took off the blindfold–and Carter gasped in relief. He was young again. Himself again. He collapsed to his knees, and kissed Daddy’s boots, thanking him for another chance. Daddy got down with him, and pulled him close, giving him a kiss, running his fingers through his still grungy beard. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy said.

Carter didn’t say anything back–he clearly didn’t understand how Daddy could be proud of him, after what he’d done.

“You came back, boy. You came back–but more than that, you were man enough to admit that you’d been wrong. You surrendered to me not because you had to, but because you want to. And that shows that you are stronger than nearly every man I have ever met–and you’re still just a boy, for now. But one day, I can already tell, you’re going to make a great Daddy yourself. Maybe even a Frat Daddy like me.”

“I…Thank you Sir, I’d…be honored.”

“But first, there’s the small matter of your punishment, I believe.”

“I’ll take whatever you deem necessary Sir.”

“Oh, you’ll take a beating from me, yes. But first, I think the other boys have a right to first crack at you. Get up–you’re going on that cross. Every boy in the house is getting a flogging lesson tonight–and you’re the meat–got it?”

Carter gulped, but they both saw his cock jump at the thought. And once all the boys in the house had gotten a chance to take a little bit of their frustration and shame out on the now powerless Carter, they were all more than happy to take him back into the fold. And for Thanksgiving, they were all thankful for Daddy–but none more so that Carter, at Daddy’s right hand. He knew what he was now, without a doubt. It would take time, and training, and practice, and diligence, but he’d be a Daddy too, one day–it was the only thing he wanted to be. The only thing he could be. But he’d do it right, and he knew that with Daddy guiding him, he’d grow to be the best man he could possibly be.

Straight Town

Last Updated – 8/12/19. It’s finished! Thanks all for your patience with this one. New stuff will be coming tomorrow.

NOTE: Click the “Continue Reading” button below first, before using the links in the table of contents, or else most won’t work!

Table of Contents

Arc One: Kevin and Steve
Supplemental Writings

Continue reading “Straight Town”

Interactive: Porno Virus (Part 12)

This is going to be the last entry in this series for the moment. I might revisit it at some point, but I have some other ideas I’d like to try for the moment. I’ll be starting a new interactive story of some sort next week!

As Tobias walked through the suburban streets, looking for someone to introduce to his new desires, to his new God, he saw, ahead of him, an older fellow walking a dog in the evening. He was most likely in his late thirties, wearing a shirt and slacks, looking tired from work and his home–and Tobias saw someone who could use a new…outlook on life. He followed along behind him for a few minutes, until they reached a dark stretch of the street, and Tobias pounced on him. The dog took off running, terrified at the strange smelling figure that had leapt out and tackled his master–and Eric, the man Tobias tackled, struggled with Tobias in the dim light, unable to understand what this man was–the clinking of metal, the rub of rope and leather against his skin, the sickening bulge of Tobias’ monstrous cock grinding against him. As he fought, however, he could feel…something happening to him, a strange sensation on his skin, like something was crawling on him, underneath his shirt, making him squirm and shudder in disgust. He managed, at last, to fight the man off and he ran down the street, but the sensation of…something on his skin didn’t go away. Wondering what the crazed freak might have had on him, he took off his shirt (which was feeling increasingly tight), and then pulled off his undershirt as well, and looking down, he gasped.

There were…tattoos crawling across his body. He scratched at them, trying to get them off, but they were already under his skin–the virus seeping into his body, infecting him and his desires with the images that Tobias had implanted in him. Across his chest he saw the words “Daddy Hog”, and he could…remember when he got it, at that seedy tattoo shop outside of Denver on one of his rides, the same time as that trucker had asked Eric to help him break in a new college boy he’d picked up hitchhiking…

Eric clutched his head, trying to resist the new memories, giving Tobias the opportunity he needed to grab Eric and drag him back into the darkness, groping him, covering him with still more tattoos, all over his arms and legs and belly–images of pigs, images of bikes and bikers, images of cigars and smoke. Eric tried to fight, but eventually, he forgot he was even trying to fight any of this, he forgot he’d ever been Eric at all–that Eric, from before.

They ended up fucking between two houses, Eric plowing the rubber and leather freak in the ass, at least until the side door of one of the houses opened, and a younger man emerged holding a bag of garbage, looking at the two freaks fucking by his fence, and gaped at them. Gaped long enough that Tobias could leap on him and together, they started tearing the young fellow’s clothes away, and Tobias’ cock started leaking–but it wasn’t cum that came out, but dark silicone.

It dribbled, and then poured all over the young man’s body, coating him in it, sliding into every crevice and orifice, the silicone beefing up his ass, filling his lips, covering his teeth and dissolving them, covering his hands and turning them into mitts, and then Tobias forced his freakish cock into the man’s ass–while Eric fucked the new gimp’s rubberized mouth. The silicone flooded his system, and the man could feel his cock and balls inflating into some bulbous mass, a freakish accessory, also coated in rubber–and that was the last think he felt, really. The last thing he thought, as the rubber invaded and choked out his mind, leaving him as nothing more than a freakish rubber gimp for the new biker to use as he desired. Tobias felt himself ready to cum, so he hauled his cock free, and blasted Eric with his silicone cum, watched it coalesce into rubber gear to replace his ripped in torn clothes, and admired his fat, thick bearded, heavily tattooed biker freak, and then sent them off–Eric once again walking something on a leash, but no longer a dog, looking for a bike to steal so he and his slave could get back on the road, spreading the infection everywhere they went.

Porno Virus (Part 7) [Interactive]

Theodore, or Teddy, as he now thought of himself–after all, the only person in his life to call him Theodore was his mother, and even then, only when she was about to beat his ass with a switch from the willow–stood in the shower area, dressed in the clothes he’d found, which he now considered to be his clothes, and tried to think about what he’d been doing. Thinking, however, proved to be a bit more difficult than he’d expected it to be. His head just didn’t want to move very quickly, and he’d never been to bright of a fellow to begin with, but there was something he needed to do, something…important. Something about…about an office? Of course, he didn’t work in an office–he’d hate working somewhere like that!–but there was someone…someone he knew in an office, and he…fuck, everything just felt so hazy all of a sudden. He’d feel better with a cigar.

He stomped out of the shower area, lit a cigar, and took a few deep draws, feeling his head clear–and the virus started filling in details. He…was missing someone. Someone…not important, exactly, but someone that…that was his, that was usually always with him. A wife? He laughed at that thought. Teddy wouldn’t let you call him a faggot, of course, but the only hole he wanted to fuck was a man’s–though you’d have to get him very drunk before he let you anywhere near his own. No, not a wife. A boy? A…something. He’d know when he got there–but getting there was going to be the hard part, because for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he’d parked his motorcycle.

He looked around the truck stop parking lot, but the only thing happening was some fancy ass sedan getting towed away. There were some bikes parked over by the bar–not his, but…well, he had a feeling he’d be able to make off with one of them.

Half an hour later, with a fresh gash in one cheek that was drying, and some bruised knuckles, Teddy pulled into the parking lot of the office where he knew he had to go, an office that he could almost remember, like from a dream, even as a voice assured him he’d never been here before in his life. He went inside, and the place was mostly deserted. He could…smell smoke, somewhere, and he let his nose, and that little voice inside his head, guide him deeper and deeper into the building, until he found a large office filled with cigar smoke, and sitting there in front of a monitor, scrolling through porn, was the man he’d been looking for–his pig.

“Pig–what the fuck are you doing here?” Teddy growled at him, causing the chubby, hairy, musky fellow in the chair to flinch in surprise. Steve looked back, at the massive wall of hairy, tattooed flesh standing in the doorway, and the cock in his hand started spurting his load of cum that he’d been edging all over the floor in front of him. Then again, he’d never really been able to resist his…his boss. “Uh, hey…Boss…I uh, I don’t know, I…I was doin’ some work, and–”

“You dumb fuck, I’ve never seen you work a day in your life, and you fuckin’ work for me.”

“I…I know, I…I don’t really know, it’s all…weird.”

Teddy just gave a smoky snort, stepped into the office, hauled Steve out of the chair and pushed him onto his hands and knees. Teddy knew how to remind him, perfectly well, what the proper order of things was. He hauled down Steve’s filthy underwear and rammed his own cock in deep, Steve moaning in pleasure, his own mind being rewritten and emptied out by the virus, filled with new memories of them both. They’d been together for years now, travelling around the country on their bikes when they had the cash, and usually working construction through the warm months to build up some cash. Teddy fucked him rough, digging his nails into Steve’s flabby form, and when he came after a few minutes, the virus had cleaned them both out of their old identities–now they were just Teddy and Steve, a couple of filthy biker bears working construction through the summer until they saved up enough to take off again–and that was all they wanted to be, as far as they were concerned.

Terrance, for its part, was satisfied with the test, but there were other subjects around that could be manipulated as well. Who did Terrance decide to target and infect next?

Instead of picking particular people, here’s a list of some kinks and fetishes that haven’t been represented much yet. Let me know what you’d like to see, and I’ll craft a scenario around those interests. The public poll is below, and the bonus patron poll can be found over here!

Porno Virus (Part 6)

There were a lot of good options on this one, but the oversized/biker/construction combo won out by a bit. There might be a bonus version of this part using some other options for Patrons only later this week!

The clothes inside the lost and found box looked to be less lost, and more abandoned. None of them were washed, many had various holes, ripped seams, and mysterious stains on them, and while the Theodore would have never even considered touching something like this before the virus infected him, now it just seemed like the most…reasonable course of action. The fact that touching the stiff denim and grungy cotton was giving him a hard-on didn’t seem worth thinking about.

In the end, he cobbled together an outfit of a sort from some of the more intact pieces in the box. He found a cleanish set of briefs, though they did have sizable skid mark down the back, and a hole that the head of his cock wanted to slide through when he put them on. They were too large for him by a bit, or perhaps it was just that the elastic band had lost some of its tightness. In any case, they wound work, and they still fit better than the rest of the clothes he could find in there.

The normal sized stuff was mostly ripped and shredded beyond repair. What remained was all much too large for him, but he figured it would work well enough to get him back to his car. He pulled on a pair of muddy jeans, one knee ripped out, with a waist several inches too large, and an inseam that had the legs pooling around his feet. There was a belt, luckily, a leather one with a Harley Davidson buckle on it, that worked to keep them cinched up. After that came a hi-viz shirt, with stained armpits. It was a 4xl-tall, and hung off Theodore’s body comically, but at least he wasn’t naked. There were some boots in the box, and some grungy, holy socks. He pulled them on, but they were as large on him as everything else. Lastly, though he didn’t know why, he pulled out a leather biker vest and slung that over his shoulders, but that too, was too large, and lastly, a slightly dented hard hat came out and he set it on his head.

Theodore could feel that…strange sensation coming over him again, the same one he’d been feeling all day, the same one that had happened a moment before, when he’d grown out of his khakis and polo shirt, except this time, it was somehow more intense. It started in his bones, a deep, aching heat, followed by a few disturbing cracks as his legs started to grow and extend, the bones growing thicker, sturdier. He stumbled against the wall and slumped over, trying to keep a hold of himself, as the heat spread outward from his bones, into his joints, into his muscles, all the way up to his skin. The belt that he had cinched tight a moment before was now cutting into his stomach suddenly, and he fumbled with the clasp, opening up, feeling his body fill out the jeans, the shirt seeming to shrink as his body grew not only taller, but also thicker. His muscles were growing, certainly, but the fat cells inside his body had begun to multiply at an alarming rate, a sizable, yet firm, gut pushing out the front of the shirt.

He knelt there, shaking and shuddering in pain for a few minutes, until he could finally feel the changes subside. He expected to feel exhausted after that, but if anything, he felt…more energized than he had in years, up to that point. He got back up on both of his feet, and was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo–he was now more than a foot taller than he’d been before, going from a meager five foot six inches, all the way to a few inches shy of seven. The jeans that had been comically long before this now barely made it to the tops of the boots, and wiggling his toes, he could tell that his feet had grown as well. He stumbled back into the bathroom proper, and looking at him in the mirror now–he barely recognized the face staring back at him.

The stubble he had forgotten to shave was now a full fledged beard, and the hair he usually kept so neatly trimmed was no longer there–it had either fallen out or pulled back into his skull, leaving him with a shiny cueball instead. His arms were quite hairy, and underneath the hair, he could see that tattoos had appeared in full sleeves, all of them…ones that he’d gotten when he was younger, riding across the country on his bike with his gang, and…and that wasn’t right, was it?

His head felt all mixed up all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he be terrified at this, at what had happened to his body? But he wasn’t terrified–instead, the main things he was feeling was, first, that he was desperate for a cigar, and second, that he was hornier than he could ever recall being…except he was always this horny, wasn’t he? He groped his cock, feeling the nine inch shaft already half hard in his dirty briefs, the head sliding out the hole in his underwear, and then through the matching hole in the jeans, and he grinned, showing a mouthful of crooked, yellowed teeth. There…was something that he needed to do, wasn’t there? But what? It had been important, but it seemed to have slipped his mind.

What happens next? Don’t forget the bonus poll for patrons if you support me too!

The Kingsford County Line (Part 3)

The three bikers left out the door, leaving Howard on his hands and knees, licking cum from the filthy tile floor, and Jeremy finally shot his third load, and Doug felt mostly sated for the night, and pulled away. Jeremy still hadn’t had enough though–his cock was on fire without a hole to shove it into, and when he saw his father turn around, his ass dribbling cum, he lunged forward and rammed into him like an animal, pistoning and thrusting, while Howard lost control all over again, spraying another load himself across the floor. It was only after Jeremy came for the fifth time that he was able to regain some of his senses, pull himself free from his father, and wonder why nothing he’d just done seemed to be bothering him in the slightest. It didn’t seem to be bothering his father either, who was pushing back onto his cock just as fervently, head still pressed to the tile and eating up the last of the cum from his own final load. Jeremy pulled out and stumbled back, muscles shaking from the exertion, his cock still throbbing with need, and he looked over at Doug behind the counter. “What…what the fuck did you just do to me? What happened?”

“Kingsford County happened. Don’t worry, it’ll feel like home soon enough. Still, all that fuckin’ worked up an appetite–how about you? Why don’t we binge for a bit, and you can plow me again once you’re good and drunk–I like my men with a hefty beergut, you know? Don’t worry, you’ll only end up as big as me if you want to…” Doug said, shaking his gut again, Jeremy feeling it tug at his attention, tug at his cock, tug at his sudden, visceral need, and he ran. Ran around the end of the aisle and burst out the door and back into the parking lot, but only after did he realize he’d just left his father inside. Still–he couldn’t go back there, he couldn’t go back in there. If he did, he had a feeling he might never get out of there again. He shoved his cock back in his pants, and ran back over to the car, where he’d told Tyler and Dave to wait while he went and saw what was taking his dad so long–and he discovered something even worse. They were gone. Both of them.

There was no sign of a struggle, and the doors were all unlocked. He opened the door and looked in the back, but Uncle Logan was gone too. They couldn’t have just disappeared, right? They…they knew better, didn’t they, than to just take off without saying anything? He realized the bikers had left before them–had they done something to them? Logan wouldn’t have let something happen to them, unless…unless something happened to Logan. But then again, it wasn’t like his dad or he had been able to put up much of a fight against them inside. He looked around, but the station was deserted from what he could see. “Tyler?” he shouted into the night, “Dave?…Uncle Logan?” He ran around the pumps, and hooked around the side of the building–it was dark, but he could see someone there, sitting with their back against the wall, shaking and shivering in the dark. He ran over and found Dave there, soaking wet and stinking of…piss? What the fuck had those bikers done to him?

“Dave? Dave! Can you hear me?” Jeremy said, giving his brother’s friend a shake, “What happened? Where are Tyler and Uncle Logan?”

“They…they took Tyler. Logan…he tried–” was all dave could say, before he clamped up again, eyes welling up, “The smell, fuck…smelled so good…”

“Who? Those bikers? Did they do this?” Jeremy asked, but Dave wasn’t replying, just rocking gently against the wall. He grabbed Dave by the arm and hauled him up, half leading, half dragging him back to the van, when he saw his dad stumble out of the station doors, legs wide, face coated with cum.

“Sorry…Sorry Jeremy, had to clean up after…after Doug in there too. Fucker got cum all over his fuckin’ chair, and I didn’t want him to have to just sit down in it, you know?”

“Dad!” Jeremy said, running over, “Those fucking bikers took Tyler! And I don’t know where Uncle Logan is, I can’t find him.”

Howard didn’t seem to be listening, he just lurched over towards his son, throwing himself at him, sending Dave tumbling to the dirt where he curled up in a fetal position. “Jeremy…would…hey, fuck me again, like you did in there. Real rough. Fuck your old man, really…really fucking give it to me. Never knew my son was a real stud like that, you know?”

He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Jeremy pushed him away and slapped his father across the face, but it didn’t seem to help much. “Dad! They’re fucking gone! Don’t you fucking get it? Those fucking bikers must have taken them!”

“Nah…nah they…they wouldn’t…would they? Don’t think they’d do that. It’s me they want, they know I’m the best…best pig around here.”

“Dad, get in the damn car, we have to find them!”

“Sure sure, but what about that fuck son? Fuck me again, and we can do anything you fuckin’ want,” Howard said, leaned in and tried to kiss Jeremy, who side stepped him. Howard fell forward, trying to keep his balance, but fell to the dirt on his hands and knees–but instead of getting up, he undid his jeans and pushed them down, showing his ass to his son…and Jeremy…he wanted to, he really did, but he had to stay focused, he had to…to try not to think about what had just happened in there, what he’d done.

“You don’t want that ass–trust me, he’s taken.”

Jeremy looked over and saw Doug at the door. He must have finally lumbered over to the door, his massively fat apron still…still hanging down over his jeans, swaying a bit.

“Get back in here, we aren’t finished yet, not by a long shot.”

“No…No, those bikers, they took my brother. And my uncle.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, that’s none of your concern anymore,” Doug said, giving his fat a slight jiggle, Jeremy focusing away, but he could…feel it, feel that ache. “You’re mine, I claimed you. Now get in here–I’m fucking starving.”

No–No, he–he had to find his family. But later, maybe. Eventually? It was hard to really understand what happened to him every time he saw Doug’s gut heave again.

He grabbed his dad by the arm and hauled him up, dragging him over to the car, Howard stumbling with his pants and underwear around his ankles, and Jeremy shoved him into the passenger seat, as Doug pushed his way out, yelling and cursing, but he was too slow to stop him, Jeremy knew that. He grabbed Dave and helped him up from where he’d fallen, and shoved him into the back of the van, climbed in the driver’s side and started the engine, hearing it give a strange, grinding whine that it hadn’t been making before, but he floored it, and sped off into the dark. Still, he couldn’t…couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rearview mirror, where he could still see Doug silhouetted in the light of the station, until the road turned a bend, and he disappeared behind him in the dark.

The Kingston County Line (Part 2)

Yesterday went to hell, so here’s a double length post to make up for it!

He knew the answer to his own question as he looked them up and down–these guys were doing whatever the hell they wanted to do. All three of them were probably in their midthirties, more in shape than out, and wide, square shoulders, and none shorter than six foot three. What in the hell was he doing even asking guys like this a question like that? The one the attendant had called Butch, the biggest, and meanest looking of the three, his body so thickly coated with tattoos even his face had thick blocks and swirls of black on his cheeks and forehead, pulled a dark leaf, near black cigar from the pocket of his worn leather vest, a lighter from the other, and took a moment to light it, puffing it to life with an odd gentleness. How long since he’d seen someone smoke indoors in a place like this? Decades? It was such a strange sight, that it was almost comical to him, and the joker in him blurted out, “I don’t think you can smoke in here,” and immediately regretted it.

“Definitely new around here,” Butch mumbled with a chuckle, and then stared Howard down, “I think you’ll figure out soon enough that, here in Kingsford, we can smoke wherever the fuck we want to, bitch.”

Howard tried to retort, but his throat was frozen shut, his eyes unable to look away from Butch’s. He heard Doug let out a despairing moan, “Aww come on! You know he should be mine! Let me have him, ya’ll don’t have to be so damn greedy! Besides, I know you came in here for my fat ass, Butch, don’t tell me you aren’t gonna give me a good reaming now just cause someone new came in the door!”

“Slim, smack Dougy for me,” Butch said without breaking eye contact, and one of the bikers–neither of which was at all slim, turned and slapped the attendant hard across the face, dark chewing tobacco spittle flying from his mouth. “Thanks, Slim.”

“Sure thing boss.”

“Dougy, you can watch if you fuckin’ want, I guess, but I sure as hell don’t want your ass now, none of us want your nasty, loose hole, you’re just fuckin’ easy, and you know it. No, not when we have someone new inside the county line,” Butch stepped closer, puffing on his cigar, until he was toe to toe with Howard, and then took the cigar from his mouth, leaned down until he less than an inch from his face, and exhaled a thick plume of dark grey smoke right at him.

He didn’t want to breathe in, but the sudden surprise made him jolt and inhale anyway, pulling the rank smoke into his lungs…but more than that. He felt the soot stick to his face, to his eyes, cloud up his mind. He swayed on his feet, as Butch took a second deep drag off his cigar, and again leaned in, but this time he was ready–Howard…opened his mouth, allowing Butch to lock their mouths together, feeding him the smoke directly into his lungs, the two of them sharing smoke even as Butch ran his knife down his bare arms, making Howard shiver, before using it to cut the buttons from his shirt, one by one until it opened up, revealing his hairy belly beneath. At this point, Howard wasn’t thinking anything at all, his eyes blank and staring into the middle distance, jaw slack, but more than happy to take another load of smoke when Butch fed it to him, while he undid the fly of Howard’s jeans and pushed them down, helping him shrug off his now buttonless shirt, the father now naked aside from the tennis shoes. His cock was rigid, but Butch had no interest in that–he spun him around, bent him over at the waist, and got down on his knees, taking another drag off his cigar, this time spreading apart Howard’s ass, and pushing the hot, acrid smoke right into his ass.

The effect was immediate–his hole loosening, but more than that–a strange, desperation pushed it’s way into his hazy mind. Though Howard had never once in his life entertained being with another man, suddenly, the only thing he needed, more than anything else, was a cock buried deep in his ass. Howard kept feeding him smoke, four or five more loads, and each time he didn’t believe the desperation could grow, but it did all the same. By the third lungful of smoke, he heard himself begging, almost outside of his body, pleading with the bikers to fuck him, to rape him, all of them, that he needed their cum, he needed their smoke, he needed them all inside him, all at once, if possible. When he needed a fuck so bad he was nearly sobbing, Butch finally decided he was ready, lined up his thick, nine inch cock, and slipped it inside Howard’s now welcoming ass, teasing him, holding his hips tight in his gloved hands to keep the older man from impaling himself on it, making him quiver and beg for every inch, until Butch was nestled in deep.

“First of many, bitch, first of so fucking many, don’t you worry,” Butch said to the quivering man, “Now, tell me, how much do you want my brothers’ cocks shoved down that hungry throat of yours? How bad do you need them to rape your throat rough and hard?”

“So…so badly, more than I’ve needed anything, other than how much I need you inside me right…right now.”

“That’s good–because their cocks deserved to be worshiped, don’t they? Look at them, think about me. We’re the only kind of men you desire. Rough, violent, willing and happy to treat a desperate pigwhore like you how you deserve to be treated. The only people who can give you, what you know, in your heart, you need, and deserve. Men like us, we deserve to be worshiped, deserve your service, isn’t that right?”

“Yes…yes sir, fuck, they’re so…you’re all the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, please, please let me serve you, please give me your cocks, I need them, I want…I want to give you pleasure, do whatever you want to me, use me however you want, just…just please…please.”

Slim and Leon, the third biker, were more than happy to give the pig what he was asking for. Both of them released their own cocks from their greasy jeans–Leon’s was a more modest five, but heavily pierced, with a thick gauge PA and a jacobs ladder, while Slim’s was ten inches and again, hardly slim, with a meaty foreskin. Howard didn’t know where to start–he hopped from each cock, back and forth with Butch started fucking him, drawing his cock all the way out before slamming back inside him with enough force to impale his face on whatever cock had his attention at the moment. And inside his head, Howard scrambled for any kind of foothold he could find. What was he doing? These…these men were raping him, and he was just going to let it happen? No, he wasn;t just letting it happen, he wanted it to happen. He wanted them to be even rougher, he wanted it, he needed it. How could he have not known this about himself? How was he just discovering this part of him? It felt…it felt like that smoke–it had been more than smoke. It had planted something inside of him, something that was growing…or festering. Butch came inside him, and he felt that…thing, it latched onto him, wrapping itself deeper into him, watered with the cum filling his bowels. Butch pulled out, motioned to Slim, and the massive man took his place, burying his even larger cock in to the hilt.

Butch had been gentle, compared to Slim. Even as loose and pliable as he’d become, he still groaned and moaned in pain, even as he tried to focus on worshiping the cocks in front of him, cleaning his own filth from Butch’s tool, tasting his own humiliation. It was then that he realized that his own cock had been wrapped around his own cock this whole time, and he’d already cum once–he hadn’t noticed because the force and pleasure of his own orgasm hadn’t compared at all to the pleasure of his service at the cocks of these rough, abusive bikers, these gods, as he was coming to see them now. His gods.

“D-Dad? Dad!”

Some small fragment of whatever spell was holding him snapped, and Howard flung his head away from the cocks, and found himself staring at Jeremy, his son, who must have come in to look for him, when he hadn’t returned to fill up the car.

Did I fucking tell you that you could stop?” Butch asked, grabbed Howard by the iar and yanked his face back around, cheeks burning as he continued nursing the head of Butch’s cock, tasting the last bit of cum dribbling from his balls. “Looks like it’s your fucking lucky day Doug, we have a two for one.”

Jeremy pulled his eyes away from the disgusting scene of his father’s willing rape, and looked to where Butch had turned, finding himself staring at the gas station attendant behind the counter. He had hefted his huge gut up onto the glass surface, like a shelf, and squatted down so he could access his puny cock buried there in the folds–it was one of the only ways he could reach it at his size. The young man, however, found his eyes locked to something else–the massive man’s undulating belly, as he jacked his cock. It was…it was huge. Jeremy had never even seen anything like it in his life, and…and suddenly, what he wanted more than anything else, was to just stare at it. Or…or even touch it. It was only after he’d registered that as a thought, that he realized he was walking forward, past the bikers fucking his father at both ends and around behind the counter, where he found himself grabbing onto Doug’s flab, shaking it, watching and feeling it jiggle against him. Doug pulled off his uniform, revealing his monstrous upper body, smooth aside from a moderately thick trail running the impossibly long distance from belly to chest, and he got down, yanked down Jeremy’s shorts before he could do anything about it, and began slathering it from root to tip with his dark spit.

It was like a jolt of caffeine shot directly into his bloodstream. Suddenly, Jeremy was so aware of everything occurring around his cock, that he was completely unaware of anything else. He began thrusting his cock into Doug’s fat mouth–awkwardly, but the fat man knew how to handle strangers fairly well–he’d certainly seen his fair share of them, since this was usually their first stop in Kingsford County, and he took the opportunity to lick his black slobber all over Jeremy’s balls as well, which only intensified his need. When he pulled away, Jeremy didn’t even really notice–he simply kept fucking the air, completely unaware of what was going on around him as Doug dropped his pants to the floor, bent over in front of him, and helped guide the young man’s cock into his hole, where Doug needed it most. All it took was that first deep thrust, and Doug let out a loud, long moan, his balls pumping a huge load of cum across the seat of the chair where he’d been sitting.

“Fuck yeah! That’s what I’m fuckin’ lookin’ for. You love pounding a fucking hole, don’t you boy? Best fuckin’ feeling in the whole goddman world, ain’t it? Go on, show me how much you love it, give it to me like Slim’s giving it to that pig!”

Jeremy shot his first load after about a minute, but Doug coaxed him to keep going, that no young stud like him was satisfied with just one load in a fat hole like his. So Jeremy just kept going, his mind still on a livewire as he fucked, no longer even caring that his father was still getting reamed by the bikers feet away from him. Slim had finally finished, leaving Leon to pick up sloppy third, grumbling about the fact that he had to go last, now that Slim had stretched the hole to “fuckin’ oblivion,” as he said. Butch told him that if he didn’t want it, he could just skip his turn entirely, but Leon still wanted to cum. Jeremy shot again, but still couldn’t bring himself to stop, and was close to his third load when another face came around the corner–a filthy looking chubby hick, smoking a short, thick cigar, who surveyed the scene with mild interest before turning to Doug.

“Ah see yer a bit busy. I’ll git what Ah need ‘n leave cash on the counter?”

“Fuck-Fuckin’ fine, Pa, whatever.”

The man browsed the beer for a bit, settled on a cheap twenty-four pack, left a few bills on the counter and left with the beer under his arm like nothing strange was happening at all. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when Leon finally finished up, and pulled out of Howard’s hole.

“Good job, pig,” Butch said, patting him on the head. Now get down there and clean up that cum of yours you shot everywhere like a good pig, got it? Come on boys, let’s see what we have outside, and then we can round up the rest of the gang for a roadside pickup, eh?”

“Sounds good to me, Butch.”

“Fuck, everyone’s gonna be so fuckin’ happy to have another pig around here.”

The Kingsford County Line (Part 1)

This is a now defunct story of mine that I’m thinking about reworking into an interactive once the fetish gun finishes up here soon (since I’m kind of running out of steam with it! In the mean time, and because I still don’t quite have my buffer back, here’s the first chapter of the original story I wrote.

“That sign says, ‘Kingsford County’! How about that, does that help?” Tyler said, watching the sign blow past in the dark. In the passenger seat of the minivan, his older brother Jeremy squinted harder at the roadmap he had spread out in his lap, while their father, tried to focus on the road. Next to Tyler, on the middle bench of the van, his best friend, Dave, was staring out the other window at the darkness. There hadn’t been much out there all day–just plains and some low hills, and the occasional antenna which did nothing to improve anyone’s cell phone reception out here in the damn national sticks. Some roadtrip–why in the hell had he taken the invitation in the first place? If he’d known all he was going to see was dirt, he would have stayed home. Behind them, on the back bench, Tyler and Jeremy’s uncle Logan was snoring softly, having already fallen asleep after driving most of the day, before his younger brother, Howard–the boys’ father–had taken over a few hours before.

The Brandt Boys Annual Family Roadtrip was something of a tradition for Logan, Howard Brandt and his two sons, and each year they would choose a different part of the country to drive through. This year, they were driving through the heartland, but at the moment, they were rather lost. Jeremy searched the map–they should be somewhere in…Missouri? Arkansas? Gah, he was a horrible navigator, why in the hell had his dad given him the map? His Uncle Logan was so much better at this than he was, but he couldn’t blame him for wanting to take a nap. Jeremy had just finished his Junior year of college and was home for the summer, while Tyler and his friend had both just graduated. It was Tyler who had picked their trip, as a graduation present, and also brought along his friend, though Dave hasn’t exactly enjoying himself. Still, the trip was his idea–why the hell wasn’t he the one failing at reading the map? At least then he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty for doing it wrong. He looked over at his dad–now in his late fifties, rings under his eyes from driving all day long, and now into the night, beyond a short pit stop for lunch at some small speck of a town a hundred miles behind them now. “Dad, do you want to switch? I can drive for a bit, if you want.”

“No, I’m good–there has to be something around here, somewhere. It’s not like we can be on a road to nowhere, right?”

It sure felt like they were. Jeremy went back to studying the map, looking for a Kingsford county anywhere on there, but he didn’t see one. The road they were one was currently a bit hilly–and all of them breathed a sigh of relief when the rode up over a low peak and saw the night glimmer of a tiny town in the distance. It didn’t exactly look large, but it was something–or somewhere. If nothing else, they weren’t going to be camping on the side of the road like they’d had to a few times in the past–and they hadn’t run out of gas yet, either…though Howard checked the gauge again. This was definitely the closest they’d come–he’d dumped in the two gallons of spare gas he kept for emergencies just before sundown, when he’d switched with Logan. Still, this was all part of the adventure, for him. Staying off the highways, finding these old, forgotten places. This country was massive, but no one understood that. Everyone just stayed in their little bubbles, not even caring about what might be out there, and he wanted his sons to see all of it, warts and all.

The glimmer disappeared behind the next hill, but it was there, at least. They kept driving, and after another ten miles, the first sign of civilization appeared–a small, rundown gas station, with pumps that looked like they’d last been installed in the seventies or eighties, but it would have to do. He pulled the car in up next to a pump, and breathed a sigh of relief–Tyler noticed, Jeremy didn’t, and Dave was still staring out the window like there was still nothing out there at all but plains. There was one small pickup truck, well worn, and three motorcycles parked off to the side, but no one else getting gas. It didn’t look like a pay at the pump sort of situation, so Howard told the three boys to wait in the car with Logan–who hadn’t yet woken up–while he went in and prepaid–thankfully he had cash, because he didn’t expect a place like this to have a card reader.

He also didn’t expect to walk in on a hold up. Or, what looked like a hold up.

The small store was stocked mostly with a few short, but tall, aisles of junk food and candy bars, the coolers along the walls packed with beer. The aisles blocked the view of the counter, and so he lost sight of the windows as he came around the end of the aisle where he found a short counter, and he heard them before he saw them:

“Now, Dougy, are you gonna give us what we want? Or do we have to take it, like usual? You know I like the way you fight, fat fuck, but I don’t know if I wanna work that hard tonight, you know?”

“Aww, come on Butch!” the attendant said, flashing a smile, showing off the fact he was missing quite a few teeth, “You know how I like it, and if you want it so bad, I want to feel you take it–it’s the only thing that helps these fuckin’ night shifts pass, you know?”

There, around the corner, was a short counter, behind which a was stashed the stores cigarettes, cigars, and other tobacco, and it was also where three rough looking bikers were standing, the one in the center leaning over the counter with a knife pressed into the fat, fleshy throat of the attendant–a very large man wearing a greasy uniform and a name tag which said “Doug”. He had his head tilted up, and some…black substance was leaking out the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t seem worried. If anything, he looked excited.

Howard froze and all four of them turned to stare at him, like they were all looking at some strange beast.

“Well fuck me,” Doug said, “Not what I was expecting tonight.”

Howard steeled himself–as best as an overweight, over the hill five foot six father of two with a good amount of grey hair can–and puffed up his chest. “What…what the hell do you three think you’re doing?”